


I Made A Mixtape

by intouchwithhumanity



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Bisexual Richie Tozier, Christmas, Costumes, Cream, David Bowie - Freeform, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier-centric, Fleetwood Mac, Fluff, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Halloween, Heroes, M/M, Mixtape, Music, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Eddie Kaspbrak, Pining, Queen - Freeform, Reddie, Reddie Fluff, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Secrets, Soft Eddie Kaspbrak, Songs, The Clash - Freeform, The Who - Freeform, anonymous communication, cassette, eddie has great taste in music, eddie my love, honestly it's basically just richie and eddie in this, mixtapes, the b52s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 15:27:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21210812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intouchwithhumanity/pseuds/intouchwithhumanity
Summary: Richie finds a misplaced mixtape in the school library whilst he's in detention. Not wanting to steal it outright, he swaps it for one of his own.





	I Made A Mixtape

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Careless_dork](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Careless_dork/gifts).

> I wrote this based on a prompt - first time writing from a prompt eek! hope you like it.

Richie was in detention. One of the teachers caught him passing notes in class and made him read it out loud, which was a mistake. The string of expletives, sexual innuendos and insults were colourful, to say the least.

Richie knew his parents wouldn’t much care about the reprimand as long as Richie kept bringing home A report cards, but Richie cared because it meant he had to stay behind after school. He’d been told on arrival at the detention hall that he could either stay in that room in silence or stack shelves in the library. He chose the latter.

Meanwhile, the Losers went down to the clubhouse without him. Eddie would be sitting in the hammock by himself, for once. Eddie wouldn’t kick him, wouldn’t curse at him, wouldn’t knock his glasses off his face. He’d just sit there, quietly reading his comic. Richie wondered if he would be wearing a shower cap if he wasn’t there.

‘Okay, Richie. Take these over to the math and science section,’ the librarian said, pushing over yet another full trolley.

Richie rolled his eyes and obliged. As he pushed the books to the far corner of the room, he noticed a stack of papers in a ring binder which had been accidentally left behind by some other student. He checked for a name, but he couldn’t see one. As he turned the pages, an audio cassette tape slipped out and clattered onto the table top.

Richie picked it up. The label declared it to be a tape of Cool Songs in handwritten letters. Smirking, he turned it over to see if there was a playlist, but it was blank.

That should have been the end of it, but Richie’s fingers itched. He hated not knowing things. This tape was supposedly all Cool Songs, how could he go on without finding out exactly what those song choices were?

He poked his head out from behind the shelves to see if the librarian was around, but she was nowhere to be seen. Inconspicuously, he tiptoed over to his backpack and fished out his Walkman. He popped out the tape in the machine and replaced it with Cool Songs. Then he slid his own tape onto the shelf beside the table with the binder on it.

Grabbing a pen, he hurriedly wrote a note, all in capital letters. It read: _Sorry, I took your tape. I needed to know what was on it. I’ve left one for you on the shelf in exchange. Mine has a playlist because I’m civilised._

He didn’t sign it. He turned back to the task at hand and once he was done, he hurried down to the clubhouse to see if the Losers were still there.

‘It’s alright, it’s alright, I’m here,’ Richie announced on arrival.

Eddie lowered the comic that was in front of his face, then threw his head back onto the hammock. ‘Oh, fucking hell. Thought I might get an evening of peace for once.’

‘Fat chance, Spaghetti,’ Richie said, immediately trying to climb in.

‘I’ve not had my ten minutes!’ Eddie insisted, pushing him off.

‘You’ve been here all night. I’ve not had _any _minutes.’

‘You can wait your turn.’

‘Too late,’ Richie flopped into position. ‘I’m starting my turn now.’

Stan sighed, ‘You’ve been here two seconds and already it’s ten times as loud.’

‘It’s why you all love me.’ Richie smiled, ‘Especially Eds.’

Eddie’s heart twisted. ‘Don’t call me Eds,’ he said.

Richie didn’t tell anyone about the tape that he had found. Later that night, when he was doing his homework, he listened to Cool Songs. It was a surprising mix of genres: pop, R&B, soul, rock and roll, even some funk and Motown.

If he knew the title, he inscribed it on the back of the tape. There were a couple of blanks, but he was determined to figure out what they were. The guy at the record shop would know. He knew everything.

When the tape finished, Richie rewound it and played it again. He looped it over and over until all his work was done, while he brushed his teeth, and as he went to sleep.

\----- 

Eddie had panicked all through last night as he realised that he’d left his binder in the library. All morning, he’d continued to panic that someone would have come in and moved, defaced or stolen his things. He’d intentionally risen and cycled to school early to maximise his chances of finding everything safe.

He was relieved to see his binder left where it was. As he rummaged between the pages, his heart sank as he realised that his mixtape of Cool Songs was missing. He’d spent ages making it, was finally happy with it, and someone had taken it. He was about to go and complain to the librarian, when he spotted a note.

After reading, he looked over to the shelf and picked up the tape which had been left there. The label said: Certified Bangers. He snorted at the name, toyed with leaving the tape where it was, then shrugged and opened his bag. He got out his Walkman, popped the cassette currently inside and replaced it with Certified Bangers.

He considered leaving it at that, but then he looked at the other tape in his hand. Quickly, he got out a marker and listed the tracks carefully. Then he left the tape on the shelf. He left a note: _Thanks. The track names are on this one._

There was no guarantee that the mystery thief would return, of course, but he figured that there was little harm. It was exciting to think that someone was out there, listening to a mixtape that he created.

He didn’t have the chance to listen to Certified Bangers until that evening. It opened loudly, with searing guitars from Guns ‘N’ Roses, and Eddie hastily lowered the volume. His ears rang, and he laughed, then listened to the rest of the tape. It was heavy rock mostly, but there was the occasional pop song. It wasn’t nearly so diverse as Cool Songs had been.

Idly, he placed the tape into his bedside drawer and wondered if he’d ever get another mixtape from the creator of Certified Bangers.

He didn’t tell anyone about the exchange.

\----- 

Richie had spent all weekend building a new mixtape. He’d started by going down to the record shop to identify the rest of the Cool Songs. It had involved him shamelessly attempting to sing the choruses at the store owner until he clocked on to what song he was talking about. Then he asked for where he could find more music by similar artists, which the owner happily obliged.

Happy with what he had created, he listened to it on the way into school the Monday morning. Feeling guilty that he had taken Cool Songs and feeling that perhaps he no longer needed it since he had his own, superior version, he went to the library to see if he could return the tape to its rightful owner.

When he saw a tape on the shelf, his first instinct was disappointment that the creator of Cool Songs had rejected his Certified Bangers, which he considered a huge mistake as they were all _certified_ _bangers_. But when he picked the tape up, he realised that it wasn’t his tape after all, but a new one called Dance Songs, with a complete track list and accompanying note.

Richie’s heart fluttered as he put Dance Songs in his bag. He went to leave the original tape of Cool Songs, then hesitated, knowing that would probably end the swapping. He only had one other tape in his possession, the one he had spent all weekend making and deeply enjoyed.

He groaned as he left his brand new tape on the shelf. He left another note. _Listened to your tape and then made this. Think you’ll like it._

‘You better fucking like it,’ he chuckled to himself.

Later, he listened to Dance Songs, glad that he had a list of the songs to work with, a list of the artists to take to the record shop. The B52s. Diana Ross. Whitney Houston. Eurhythmics. Earth, Wind & Fire.

He couldn’t wait to make another tape.

\-----

Eddie had to see if someone had taken his tape of Dance Songs. He had a new one, just in case. He darted into the library and over to the shelf. There was a new note and a new tape: Cooler Songs.

‘Someone’s smug,’ Eddie muttered to himself, but he was grinning from ear to ear. His tape had _inspired _someone else to create a follow-up. As he looked through the tracks printed on the back, he nodded his head approvingly. There was a lot there that he liked, plus a couple of things he’d meant to listen to but hadn’t yet found the time.

Rolling Stones. Pink Floyd. Fleetwood Mac. Eric Clapton. The Who.

Giddy, he left his new tape on the shelf. _Cooler? I’ll be the judge of that. Here’s another one for you._

He went to homeroom. Richie was sat at the back of the class on a desk, with his feet on the chair.

‘Morning,’ Eddie greeted, slinging his backpack onto the ground.

‘Morning, Loser,’ Richie grinned. ‘How are we today?’

Eddie smiled privately, ‘Pretty good actually. You?’

Richie slipped down into the chair beside Eddie. ‘Yeah, I’m fine. Why are you so chipper?’

Eddie considered telling Richie about the mystery mixtape, but he thought that Richie might make fun of him for it, so he didn’t. ‘Just a good mood.’ He snapped his fingers, ‘Oh, by the way, do you want to go Halloween costume shopping this weekend?’ 

‘Sure,’ Richie said nonchalantly, but in honesty, he’d been waiting for the invitation. He loved going Halloween costume shopping with Eddie. It was a tradition they had acknowledged every year, and it was one of the few things they had never let anyone else get in on, under the guise that they wanted their costumes to be a surprise. Both of them just loved that it was time they got to spend out in the town together, without anyone else around.

‘Got any good ideas yet?’

Richie scoffed, ‘All my ideas are good ideas.’

‘Oh really?’ Eddie snickered. ‘What about that time you wanted to go as the Creature from the Black Lagoon and you just ended up looking like a whale had thrown up on you?’

Richie raised his eyebrows. ‘Don’t pretend that you are not scared of whale vomit. I still say that was a success.’

‘You’re an idiot,’ Eddie said softly.

\-----

On the Friday, Richie slipped into the library.

‘Chilled Songs?’ Richie commented, reading the label on the latest tape that he’d been left. ‘Alright.’ He smirked at the note, feeling strangely bonded to the unknown author. The light teasing, the smugness, the indignance. It all felt familiar.

His heart clenched as he thought of Eddie.

He left his tape titled: Put On Your Red Shoes. It was a reference to one of the Dance Songs, David Bowie’s _Let’s Dance._ Eddie loved David Bowie too. Then again, so did everyone who had half a brain.

He sighed and left.

Eddie was waiting for him on his bike. ‘What took you?’ he asked.

‘Sorry. Got caught up on a phone call to your mom. Arranging our weekend sex plans. Want to make sure you’re out of the house, you know?’

‘That is repugnant,’ Eddie scolded. ‘Come on.’

They went to the mall and scoured the stores. Every single one had cobwebs in the windows, pumpkins on the threshold.

‘Eddie!’ Richie hollered, beckoning. ‘I’ve found something perfect for you.’

Eddie trotted over, ‘What is it?’

Richie held up a sexy French maid’s costume with a grin, and Eddie shoved him. ‘What? I think you’d look absolutely gorgeous.’

‘I hate you so much,’ Eddie laughed.

‘Just try it on. Go on. I won’t tell anyone.’ Richie egged.

‘No way!’ Eddie refuted. ‘You wouldn’t catch me dead.’

‘But it would be so funny,’ Richie whined.

Then Eddie spotted another outfit. He picked it up. It was a Dutch milkmaid outfit, complete with blonde plaited wig.

‘Uh, Eds. Whatever floats your boat, I guess.’ Richie raised his eyebrows.

Eddie grinned. ‘I’ll try on _that_, if you try on _this._’

Richie’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, you play an evil game, Mr Kaspbrak.’

‘Too chicken?’ Eddie asked, then clucked.

Richie snatched the milkmaid outfit from his hands. ‘Oh, it’s _on_. I’m going to look so good. It’s gonna make you scream more than your mom did last night.’

‘You know what?’ Eddie laughed, ‘That’s probably true.’

They took their costumes into the fitting rooms and closed the curtains. They quickly changed, adjusting the awkward collars and cinched waists. Richie’s chest hair sprouted over his plunging neckline. Eddie’s legs looked longer than they had ever done. It was wonderfully ridiculous.

‘You ready, Eds?’ Richie called.

‘Yeah,’ Eddie cried back.

‘Three, two, one,’ Richie counted, then clawed back his curtain. Eddie threw open his own. Immediately they both roared into laughter.

‘My God, you look absolutely horrendous,’ Eddie said. ‘That wig is something else.’

‘Oh, _jah_ darling,’ Richie said in an appalling accent that was vaguely European. ‘What about you? _Ooh la la._’

‘I’ve never felt more beautiful,’ Eddie said, batting his eyelashes.

Richie came over to tug at the frills around Eddie’s neck. ‘Annoyingly, it’s not even that bad.’

Eddie scoffed, ‘It’s awful! I look like a rejected extra from _Rocky Horror Picture Show._’

Richie laughed. ‘Exactly. Hot.’

Eddie shoved him and rolled his eyes.

Richie didn’t know if he’d ever been more in love with Eddie than he was in that moment, with them both dressed in comical outfits, teasing one another, making fun of themselves. He couldn’t imagine doing this with anyone else.

Tucked away from the outside world, in the dim light of the changing room cubicle, Richie had a fleeting moment where he considered kissing him.

‘Get yourself out of that thing,’ Eddie shook his head. ‘We need to figure out what we’re actually gonna wear.’

Richie nodded, and went to change.

As Eddie closed the curtain once more, he sighed at his reflection. He tried to believe that Richie was flirting with him, but the sensible portion of his brain shut it down. There was no way, no matter how much he wanted it to be true.

He spoke to his reflection, ‘You need to stop thinking about Richie like that.’

He’d said it a hundred times before. No luck so far.

\----- 

Eddie cradled Put On Your Red Shoes like it was gold dust. He could hardly contain his excitement. His cheeks were flushed, his mind was racing. He was so unbelievably excited, so flattered, that someone was essentially designing mixtapes around his taste in music, designing mixtapes specifically for him.

He’d left no tape, just a note: _Haven’t had time to make another tape yet. I’ll put one up soon. Thanks for this one and I loved Cooler Songs. Might have to put my hands up and say that they are, in fact, Cooler Songs. Student becoming the master, maybe? _

It felt like having a secret admirer. Only the creator of Put On Your Red Shoes didn’t know who Eddie was. He found himself wondering if he should tell them in one of his notes, but then he panicked that once they learned who he was, they’d be embarrassed. He was a Loser, after all.

Maybe he could do it the other way around; ask the creator for their identity. But then, what if that coloured his opinion in the same way? After all, he’d assumed that it was a girl. What if it was a boy?

Why had he made the assumption that it was a girl? He furrowed his brow.

He figured it was because _he_ was a boy. There was something vaguely romantic in the gesture of creating a mixtape for someone, and despite the nature of his feelings when he was with Richie, which were disturbing to him, he knew that boys weren’t supposed to like other boys.

But they didn’t know that Eddie was a boy. Perhaps the creator of Put On Your Red Shoes was a boy as well, and had made the same presumption, and thought that he was making mixtapes for some girl. His stomach knotted. That made him feel strangely guilty, as though he was tricking someone.

He thought about the first mixtape. Guns N Roses. Richie liked Guns N Roses. He was always going on about them, saying that one day he would buy a guitar and shred like Slash. What if it was Richie who was making the tapes?

It was a leap. It was a big, big leap. Besides, all Richie did was talk. It was unlikely he wouldn’t have mentioned that he was receiving mysterious mixtapes from an unknown source. 

He sighed and turned on his Walkman to play the new tape. It was undisputedly a set of incredible dance songs, but he didn’t feel like dancing. He huddled over onto his side and closed his eyes, knowing that whoever it was that was making the tapes, no matter how good it made him feel or how wonderful the person’s taste in music was becoming, they weren’t Richie.

\-----

Richie was on his bed, staring up into the ceiling, tears brewing in his eyes. In his Walkman, the last few notes of the latest tape, Sad Songs, played out. The tape clicked, and Richie rubbed away the tears.

‘Fuck me,’ he sighed. 

He’d waited patiently, checking daily for when the next tape would be left on the shelf. When it finally arrived, it was not what he’d expected. After the first three tapes, he’d got the impression that the creator was pretty upbeat.

Cool Songs: he’d listened to it on repeat and discovered a whole new range of music which he loved to sing along to. Dance Songs: he’d danced around his room so much that his father had yelled up and told him he was about to come through the ceiling.

Even Chilled Songs: he’d loved hearing so many acoustic covers of heavy songs that he had heard a thousand times over, which all of a sudden took on a whole new meaning, spreading roots through his brain.

Chilled Songs had inspired his favourite mix yet: Cold As Ice. He’d been surprised to see the new tape labelled Sad Songs, even more surprised to read the note that came with it: _Sorry. Just these were the only songs I was listening to this week. Hope they don’t get you too down. _

When he left Cold As Ice on the shelf, he wrote: _So chilled you’ll get frostbite. What’s got you so blue? Maybe this will make you feel better._

He felt hurt. He felt empathetic. He didn’t want whoever it was to be sad, but he didn’t know quite why he cared so much. He didn’t know them.

Or did he? After all, he had an impressive range of their music library off which he could build a picture. He shook his head. It was strange, feeling like he knew a person who didn’t even have a face where he could place the personality. When he tried to imagine the face, there was only one he saw.

‘For fuck’s sake, Richie, get it together,’ he scolded himself. ‘It’s not fucking Eddie.’

_\-----_

Richie hadn’t had the energy to make the mixtape response to Sad Songs. Every time he tried, he found himself frustrated and emotional, and couldn’t bring himself to finish it. He wandered into the library to see if there was a new tape which might be easier for him to work with.

He read the note over and over again. Just two lines. _Same thing that seems to get everyone else so blue. Guess this tape’s fitting. _

Love Songs.

Richie trembled and penned a note. _I know the feeling. Tape in progress._

He listened to the tape ten times over, his heart breaking with every song. Finally, he found himself able to finish a tape, a blend of Sad Songs and Love Songs, because really, they were the same thing as far as Richie was concerned.

He left the tape on the shelf with a note: _I said I knew the feeling and I meant it. Enjoy wallowing in my teenage angst. _

A couple of days later, Richie returned to see the tape missing and another in its place.

_I felt bad about all the downers. Thought it was about time I made something for you instead, based off your Certified Bangers as you call them, and everything you’ve sent me since. I think it’s pretty good. P.S. I think Cold As Ice might have cured my anxiety, so I really owe you one._

Songs For You.

The Clash. Cream. Queen. Pink Floyd. Jimi Hendrix.

Richie’s heart skipped. ‘Songs for me,’ he said quietly.

\-----

Eddie turned the tape over in his hands. He hadn’t played it yet. From looking at the tracks, it seemed like a blend of Sad Songs and Love Songs which resonated with the creator of three of the best mixtapes he’d ever owned. He wasn’t sure if he was prepared to put himself through it.

He read the title again for what seemed like the hundredth time.

Songs That Make Me Think About Him.

With a resolute sigh, he popped the cassette into his Walkman and laid his head back on the pillow, then pressed play. He closed his eyes.

Some songs made him smile. Some songs made him cry. All of them made his heart ache with longing. All of them made him think of Richie.

He reached the end of the track list, which was the song _Heroes _by David Bowie. It might just be his favourite song in the world. It was one of Richie’s absolute favourites too. They’d discovered it together one night and for a brief, few minutes span, they hadn’t said a word to each other. They’d just sat there, completely enraptured by this perfect song.

_Yes, we’re lovers and that is that. _  
_Though nothing will keep us together_  
_We could steal time, just for one day._

He expected the tape to click off at that point, but then a muffled guitar started to play, and a high-pitched harmony of backing singers cut through the speakers. The song was an old doowop; it sounded like it could have been from the fifties, uncharacteristic for one of the mixes.

It wasn’t a song Eddie had heard before. He didn’t know what it was called. It wasn’t on the track list at all, which was particularly confusing. But he could hear the lyrics, hear them as clear as day.

_Eddie, my love, I love you so. _  
_How I wanted for you, you’ll never know._  
_Please, Eddie, don’t make me wait too long._

His blood ran cold, and yet he was flooded with warmth. It didn’t make any sense. The only explanation he could think of for this song’s presence on the mix was if the creator of Certified Bangers was in love with a boy named Eddie.

There were other Eddies, he supposed. Well, there were Edwards and Teddies and even an Edmund. But still, it was an incredible coincidence.

He started to wonder. Was it possible that the mysterious creator had discovered his identity? Perhaps they had seen Eddie putting the tapes up on the shelf. Maybe they had fallen in love with him. Or maybe they were messing with him.

Or maybe, just maybe, and it was a slim, slim chance, the person had unknowingly revealed to Eddie that they were in love with him via an anonymous mixtape.

Eddie rewound the tape. He played it again, now imagining that someone wanted him, only him, Eddie Kaspbrak, to listen to these songs and know that they loved him. He rewound the tape. He played it again, and imagined they’d been sent by Richie.

\-----

It was the end of the semester. Richie had enjoyed listening to the tape which had been left for him the week before: Christmas Songs.

It had been left with a note: _Very intrigued by this tape. ‘Songs that make me think about him’, huh? I wonder who ‘he’ is. Here’s one for the holidays. _

Richie had wondered what final tape he could make for his nameless confidante. It had been therapeutic to put together Songs That Make Me Think About Him, even if they’d almost all been sad love songs.

His heart had pounded when he’d prepared to add _Eddie My Love _to the playlist, and he’d not been able to bring himself to write it on the cassette itself, but it was some small declaration, out there in the world, like the carving he’d made on the kissing bridge.

Smiling hopelessly, Richie placed his final tape on the shelf. He picked up a pen and began to write.

_Who knows if you’ll still want to make mixtapes in the new year, but I’ve really loved making these for you. I thought about what you said in your last note, and I figured I didn’t have much to lose. His name’s Eddie Kaspbrak. He’s the most annoying person I’ve ever met, and I’ve been in love with him for as long as I can remember. And don’t tell him I told you, but he’s always had a better taste in music than me, so here’s a tape for you of some of his favourites. Maybe he’ll think my taste has improved thanks to you. That’s about the best I can hope for when it comes to him, and I guess I’m okay with that. Have a good Christmas - and happy new year._

\-----

Eddie’s brain was melting. He stared at the tape on the shelf. The last tape that he would receive this year, since there were no more days of school after this one. There was a note, a long note, which he read until the words blurred together and slid between the lines, until they didn’t make sense anymore. Not that they made sense to him to begin with.

The tape. Eddie Kasptracks. A terrible, beautiful, exhilarating pun.

It was all meant for him. All of it. After all. The creator of the mixtapes was in love with him. He cursed himself for not figuring this out sooner, because now it was too late. The school gates were closing, and he wouldn’t be receiving another mixtape until the new year, that is, unless whoever it was forgot about the arrangement or grew bored of the idea over the holidays.

He listened to the tape of Eddie Kasptracks. There wasn’t a track list, unusually, but he was glad, as it meant that he could be wonderfully surprised every time the next song started. There was Duran Duran, Spandau Ballet, Prince, Springsteen even some Simple Minds and AC/DC. They were all incredible songs which he’d heard a million times, but he was enjoying them like it was the first time, because someone knew what these songs meant to him.

He bolted upright. Someone knew what these songs meant to him. Whoever had written the note, made this mixtape, knew him _well enough_ to build it. He pulled out the note again and started to scan, thinking that possibly it contained more clues. He pulled out all the other notes. He pulled out all the tapes.

Grabbing for a pen and paper, Eddie’s brain whirred. He started to scribble ideas.

  1. _They’re smug – (first thing I noticed)_
  2. _They call songs they like ‘Certified Bangers’ – (unforgiveable)_
  3. _They think I’m annoying – (rude)_
  4. _They think I don’t like their taste in music – (I do now)_
  5. _They know my taste in music – (really, really well)_
  6. _They’ve known me as long as they can remember – (could be an exaggeration)_
  7. _They think that I can’t love them back – (but why not?)_

Eddie chewed his lower lip as he stared at his list. He felt dizzy, terrified, electric. There was only one person he wanted to talk to.

Eddie stuffed the paper in his back pocket, grabbed his Walkman and headed downstairs. He threw on some shoes and a big puffy jacket, then headed out into the snow.

\-----

Richie lay in his bed listening to his Walkman. He had hardly moved that day, endlessly looping the mixtapes which had been given to him.

His mother called up from downstairs, but it was muffled by the music in his ears, so he pulled off his headphones and hollered, ‘What?’

Maggie called again, ‘Eddie’s here to see you!’

Richie smiled, ‘Cool! Send him up!’

Eddie appeared in his threshold, coat and shoes removed but cheeks and the end of his nose pink from the cold, eyes slightly wider than usual, almost frenzied.

‘You alright?’ Richie asked, chuckling. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

‘I’m fine,’ he said. Carefully, he walked across the room and pointed at the Walkman. He tried to keep his voice low. ‘What are you listening to?’

Richie shrugged, ‘Just some mixtape.’

Eddie’s throat constricted. He put his hand delicately on the machine. ‘Can I see?’

‘Why?’ Richie cocked an eyebrow.

Then Eddie noticed the other tapes that lay scattered on the bed. He could make out the titles. Cool Songs. Dance Songs. Chilled Songs. Sad Songs. Christmas Songs. Love Songs. He popped open the Walkman. Songs For You.

Eddie thought he might cry, or die, or both. ‘Where did you get these?’ he asked, climbing onto the bed.

Richie’s nose wrinkled. ‘I, sort of, found them, I guess.’ He didn’t know how to explain that he had an anonymous pen pal who sent him mixtapes, that he had made bespoke mixtapes for, who he had confessed his love for Eddie to.

‘Found them?’ Eddie whispered.

Richie shifted uncomfortably. ‘I didn’t steal them, if that’s what you’re implying.’

‘You stole the first one,’ Eddie said.

Richie’s head snapped up. ‘What?’

Eddie’s hands shook as he reached for his own Walkman. He popped the cassette and held it up so that Richie could see the title. Eddie Kasptracks. His mouth was dry, his throat hoarse, but he managed to say, ‘Your taste in music _has_ improved.’

Richie felt like he’d been punched. He was humiliated, embarrassed, furious, petrified. He stammered, ‘I can explain.’

‘Don’t,’ Eddie begged, and kissed him.

Richie pulled away, ‘Whoa, whoa, whoa. What?’

‘Fucking hell, Richie,’ Eddie exhaled, ‘I am so in love with you.’

Richie didn’t know what to do, what to say. In all his confusion and heightened emotion, he couldn’t stop the tears from spilling out of his eyes as he sat, agape, with Eddie’s last sentence looping around his brain like he’d looped every mixtape that Eddie had made for him.

‘What?’ Richie said again, weakly. It was the best he could do.

‘I love you,’ he said, and thought how wonderful it felt to say those words out loud, the words he believed he would never get to say to Richie.

‘You love me?’ Richie thought he had to have misheard. Twice.

Eddie kissed him again, harder, pulling at Richie’s shirt to draw him closer, squeezing his eyes shut in glorious relief.

Richie didn’t pull away this time, but he still could barely comprehend what was happening. Eddie made the mixtapes. He’d made Eddie a batch of mixtapes in return. He’d confessed his love for Eddie accidentally _to_ Eddie. Eddie figured out that Richie was the one who had made him the mixtapes, and now Eddie was here. Eddie was on his bed. Eddie was kissing him. Eddie was saying that he loved him.

They broke apart, and Richie put his hands on either side of Eddie’s face. ‘You love me,’ he said again, quietly, no longer a question.

Eddie was beaming, his eyes shimmering, dimples in his pink cheeks. He nodded, ‘I do. And you love me.’

Richie nodded, his expression still registering as disbelief, but he said, ‘I do.’ His brow furrowed, ‘How did you know it was me?’

Eddie held up the tape again, ‘No one else knows me like this.’

Richie smiled and drew Eddie into a hug, wrapping his arms so tightly around him as though he might disappear any moment, as though he believed this were all a dream and he needed to reassure himself that Eddie was a real, solid, corporeal person. Eddie. His Eddie.

‘I love you so much, Eds,’ Richie said. ‘I can’t believe –’

‘I know,’ Eddie cut him off.

Richie wrinkled his nose, ‘Oh, God. You’ve got all those sappy songs from me. I think I’ve probably lost all my credibility on the aloofness front.’

‘Songs That Make Me Think About Him,’ Eddie breathed. ‘Yeah, I know exactly how royally screwed you are when it comes to me.’

‘Maybe you should make me one like that, so we’re even,’ Richie suggested.

Eddie smiled, ‘I think I might need a new one too. Something not quite so sad.’

Richie laughed, ‘Yeah, I’m not sad anymore, that’s for sure.’

‘Me neither,’ Eddie said, and kissed him again.

\-----

‘Here,’ Eddie said. ‘As promised.’

Richie took the tape gleefully. He read the title: Songs For Us. He looked at the tracks. ‘Still had to put _Heroes _on there, I see.’

Eddie shrugged, ‘Well, yeah. That’s a great fucking song.’ He kissed him, ‘And it always makes me think of you.’

‘Can we listen to it now?’ Richie asked.

‘I guess,’ Eddie laughed, and flopped down onto the pillow.

Richie lay beside him. He laced his fingers with Eddie’s, pressed play, and closed his eyes.

Fleetwood Mac’s _Songbird _began to play.

Richie squeezed Eddie’s hand. ‘Great choice.’

Eddie curled in next to him, kissing his cheek and spreading his hand out across Richie’s chest. They were silent as the song played on.

_To you I would give the world _  
_To you I’d never be cold_  
_Cause I feel that when I’m with you_  
_It’s all right_  
_I know it’s right_  
_And the songbirds keep singing_  
_Like they know the score_  
_And I love you_  
_I love you_  
_I love you_  
_Like never before_  
_Like never before._

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this or would like to see your prompt come to life then please leave a comment with your suggestions or message me :) you can also send prompts via my tumblr @peel-back.
> 
> Lots of love xx


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